


Still Red as Red

by ENairn



Series: The Beauty of Embers [1]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 18:09:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3819958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ENairn/pseuds/ENairn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Abruptly the poker of memory stirs the ashes of recollection and uncovers a forgotten ember, still smoldering down there, still hot, still glowing, still red as red."  William Manchester</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still Red as Red

"You're still here?" Scully asks as she shifts position in the hospital bed. A moan slips past her defenses; waking up is not easy these days.

"You sound surprised," Mulder answers. From the day he came back two months ago, Scully's looked at him as if he might vanish if she closed  
her eyes. He can't blame her, really. His track record sucks.

"I thought you were going to get some rest, that's all."

He can tell from the way she's biting her lower lip that she's in pain.

"Should I call the nurse?" he asks, but she shakes her head.

"I can ride it out." She blows out a long breath. "What time is it?"

"Almost nine," he answers. "They're gonna toss my ass in a minute."

She hums a response, something she does when speaking even a few words might cause her to lose focus on controlling her pain.

The chemo treatments have been brutal--terrible joint and muscle pain, mouth sores and vomiting so bad she needed an IV after each treatment  
to prevent dehydration. She's on a new medication that seems to be keeping the nausea at bay, but it makes her sleepy.

Scully refuses pain meds as much as she can, because they interact with the nausea meds and knock her out. Pain is, apparently, marginally better than nausea.

As Mulder predicts, the nurse comes in to get Scully ready for bed and shoots him a stern look. Visiting hours were over an hour ago, but he usually stays until they force him out. With his most charming smile, he nods at the nurse and bends over Scully's bed.

The little loop of tubing from her central line peeks out above the neckline of Scully's pajama top. He hates the sight of it, the knowledge of what it represents in her life.

"Good night," he says as he leans down kiss her bald head. "I'll be back tomorrow."

"Okay," she replies. "Don't forget my green pajamas."

Her eyes seem unnaturally bright, so blue against her pale skin. There is an ethereal quality to her beauty now.

With her head completely bald, the perfect shape of her head is visible. Her eyelashes and brows survived chemo. After she lost her hair, he'd teased her, saying she reminded him of the Deltan navigator in the first Star Trek movie. She'd seemed mildly amused, which had pleased him.

The air outside feels chilly after the overheated hospital. His body registers hunger, so he drives to a diner and orders a cheeseburger and fries.

He wishes Scully was there to disapprove of the cholesterol in his meal. The food looks delicious when it arrives, but tastes like sawdust as he tries to swallow around the lump in his throat.

When he came back months ago, Scully had finished a round of chemo that she described as beyond horrible. Her hair had started to grow in, though she was still frighteningly thin. She'd told him that she was done--no more treatment, no more chemo, no more radiation. If the cancer returned, she wouldn't fight anymore.

He'd been sure it was her guilt talking. Scully didn't want to live anymore and deal with the pain of having given up their child. She didn't much appreciate his psychological assessment of her and told him to keep his opinions to himself.

When the night sweats started again and Scully found a new lump under her arm, they both knew the gig was up. Scully's doctors ran tests. The cancer was back.

He argued hard and long that she couldn't give up. She deserved to live. She needed to move past the guilt and she needed to fight. Of course, he'd have been a damn sight more persuasive if he hadn't left her two years ago in New Mexico.

But Mulder was nothing if not persistent. It was a testament to his ego and courage that he convinced Scully to undergo the clinical trial her doctor found.

If he'd known the hell that she would endure, he'd have put a bullet in her head to save her from the suffering and put one in his own to save him from having to watch.

He finishes his food and flags the waitress to bring the check. He drops some money down on the table and heads out to the parking lot. He's tired, but it's too early to go back to the Scully house.

Mulder gets back in the car and drives to the 13 screen cineplex. He's seen all the movies; this is one of his main time-killers. He decides that the action flick could stand one more watching and shoves a ten dollar bill into the metal trough at the ticket stand.

He falls asleep before the first big explosion, waking as the credits roll. His legs feel stiff as he stands and yawns. It should be safe now to go back to the house.

As he had hoped, everything is quiet when he unlocks the back door. The kitchen is immaculate, dark except for the small light on the stove. He opens the fridge and pours himself a glass of ice water, downing it while he stands in front of the sink.

Mulder moves silently through the house. It's awkward for him with Scully in the hospital. Margaret Scully tolerates him when Scully is here. One evening, in an unguarded moment, she even thanked him for all he'd done for Scully--carrying her up to bed when she was too weak to climb the stairs, driving her to doctor appointments and picking up prescriptions at the drugstore. But he knows that in her heart, Mrs. Scully believes that in prolonging her daughter's life, he prolonged her suffering.

This is, after all, the woman who, years ago, had her daughter's headstone carved before they were sure she was dead and who had Scully's life support turned off when he still held hope that she would recover. Margaret Scully had seemed determined to close the chapter on her daughter. Perhaps by burying Dana, her mother would finally be able to stop worrying about her. But Scully had lived. Scully still lived. If he says it enough, perhaps he can make it continue to be so.

He's been sleeping on a inflatable mattress in Scully's room. Without her breathing to listen to, Mulder lies awake and wonders what it would be like if Scully died. Her mother would turn to the church and grieve and move on. Mulder knows he will never really be able to move on.

The years he spent away from Scully, first burning with anger and finally caught up in his own guilt, should have served as a dry run for mourning her death. But she had never been dead to him in that time. That wasn't how it was at all. He always pictured her staunchly going on with her life, not looking back at the things she'd lost, but looking relentlessly forward. And maybe on some deep level, he felt she was better off without him.

He'd been dead once, not that he remembered it. And then he'd been apparently not dead, though it was hard to call what he felt "alive." Now, the idea of living in a world that doesn't contain Dana Scully something he can't imagine.

**********************

Three days later her doctor releases Scully from the hospital, or more accurately, Scully won't take no for an answer and her doctor agrees to release her. Mulder isn't convinced this is such a good idea, but this round of treatment is over and there is nothing left to do but wait.

Scully is frail, but her face is resolute as she throws items into her bag. They have quite a collection of calibrated plastic pitchers and little boxes of scratchy tissues from her various hospitalizations.

By the time they arrive home, it's apparent that she is operating completely on adrenaline. Scully has exhausted all of her energy reserves and can't get out of the car on her own steam. Margaret Scully rushes ahead to unlock the front door, while Mulder carries Scully inside. She feels, alarmingly, like a skeleton in a sweatsuit.

She sleeps all the time, hours during the day and then all night long. Mulder spends the better part of his days watching her, listening to her breathe, looking for signs.

She wakes long enough to eat a little but can barely keep her eyes open. This afternoon, she's out like a light on the sofa, the TV set to the soaps.

He's had a lot of practice watching over a sleeping Scully. It was a secret pleasure of his, in those years of boring stakeouts and long plane trips to feel the weight of her head on his shoulder and to listen to her soft snuffles against his suit jacket. It pleased him to see his starchy little partner unguarded and vulnerable.

But nothing beat lying next to her after they'd made love. In a role reversal that would surely fascinate a psychologist, Scully would routinely fall asleep, pretty much as soon as she came down off her orgasm high, while he would be wired and awake for hours. So he'd enjoy the opportunity to gaze at her while she couldn't get annoyed with him.

Scully had the most amazing skin. He'd run the gentlest of hands over its creamy surface, afraid to wake her, but unable to resist. If he was lucky, she would stretch in her sleep, baring the prettiest breasts he'd ever seen.

That seems like a hundred years ago. He's surprised to feel a sexual stirring, something he thought was long dead. What kind of sick bastard was he, anyway? Scully can barely walk ten steps and he's thinking about sex.

In the two years he was away from her, he sublimated his urges, running for miles late at night. He couldn't bring himself to fantasize about sex with Scully, not when he'd forfeited that right by leaving her. Women came on to him, but he mostly steered clear. It was too complicated to answer their questions. Was he married or single? Separated? Divorced? How could he explain that his status was best described as "amputee."

"What are you looking at?"

"Ah, Sleeping Beauty awakes," he says. She turns on her side and smiles drowsily.

"I'm sorry I can't stay awake," she says. "It must be boring for you. Maybe you can get out for a while."

"I'm fine," he answers. "Catching up on 'my stories' and reminiscing."

"Reminiscing? About General Hospital?"

"Yeah, I'm pining for the days of Luke and Laura. Actually, I was remembering that stakeout in South Dakota. We had that rental car with the broken heater and just about froze to death. Remember, Scully? Scully?"

He looks over and smiles. She's fallen asleep again.

As the days go by, Scully spends more time conscious. He thinks she's getting stronger, but fears that it's just wishful thinking on his part. He watches her carefully, looking for signs.

Her face loses that deathmask look, the sharp lines softening just a little. Her collarbones no longer look like they're going to poke right out of her skin.

Scully's hair is growing in, too. It starts baby fine, the rusty color reminding him of a ripe peach. He's sure she'd slap his hand away if he tried to see if it is as soft as peach fuzz.

Then comes the stubble look, which Scully hates, muttering that it makes her look she should be wearing flannel and reading Gertrude Stein. The hair can't grow fast enough for her.

But finally, her hair has grown into soft, head-hugging waves, still short, but looking gamine and sophisticated. It doesn't matter to him. He thought she was beautiful when she was bald as a cue ball, but Scully seems happier when she looks in the mirror.

He comes home from a trip to the grocery store to find Skinner's car parked in the driveway. As Mulder carries the bags into the house, he hears voices in the living room. He drops the bags on the kitchen counter, squaring his shoulders before he makes his way to the living room. Mulder stands in the doorway, watching Skinner sit beside Scully on the sofa, his huge paws covering her small hands.

Seeing the two of them together like this slices through Mulder like a knife. There is nothing sexual about their posture, but the intimacy hits him square in the face.

"Hello, Mulder," Skinner says, rising to shake his hand as he comes into the room.

"Hello, Walter. You're looking well." He's looking far too comfortable in Margaret Scully's living room. Mulder wonders how much emotional support Skinner provided Scully in the two years he was missing.

"Thank you. I was on my way out. Why don't you walk me to my car?"

Skinner leans over to kiss Scully's cheek, giving her hands a final squeeze. Mulder follows him out the door into the bright sunlight.

"Scully says she's feeling better. She looks so frail."

"She looked a lot worse a month ago. She's doing pretty well, actually."

"She says you're taking good care of her," Skinner says scuffing a toe in the gravel drive way. "Good. That's good. Don't hurt her, Mulder, or you'll have me to answer to."

Mulder nods and watches Skinner drive away.

A few days later, Margaret Scully announces that she's going to San Diego, "while Dana is feeling better," as if it's a temporary state and she'd better take advantage of it before the bad times start again.

Scully smiles and tells her mother to have fun and give her love to Bill and Tara. Mulder tries hard not to hate Margaret Scully for her lack of faith.

When Scully sleeps, he pores over cancer websites on the Internet. He reads every survivor story, holding his breath when he gets to the end of each story, hoping hard that there is no post-script added by a family member notifying the reader of the date that so-and-so lost their valiant battle with cancer.

What finally convinces him that maybe, just maybe, things are looking up is the day he announces he's going for a walk and she says, "Hold on, I'll come with you."

They walk all the way to the little market two blocks from her mother's and buy fudgesicles that they eat on the way back. Mulder can hardly contain his happiness.

Scully is far more cautious in her optimism. She admits to feeling better and stronger and will even own up to satisfaction in the changes to her appearance. But she won't allow him to open the champagne he's had in the fridge for a week.

After a series of exhaustive and uncomfortable tests, it's time to receive the verdict on the clinical trial.

She seems indifferent, numbed by the dashed hopes and bad news of the past. His only clue to the fragility of her hope is her request that  
he come into the consultation room with her. His throat is tight, nervous sweat pooling at the waistband of his jeans as he follows her  
into the room.

She grips his hand hard enough to break bones as the doctor looks up from her test results and smiles. The news is good. The cancer cells  
are gone. She's clear.

It's only as he drives them back to the house that he realizes that everything is going to change.

From the day he'd come back, Scully had been fighting for her life. They'd only skimmed the surface of what had happened to him, to her, to them. And then she'd been sick and probably dying and there was no point in dredging up old betrayals.

Scully seems too stunned, now, to speak at all. Her eyes are wide as she stared out the windshield, hands clasped tightly in her lap. When they get home, she wanders through the house, touching things, picking up objects and then putting them down again.

"I should call my mother," she says but makes no move toward the phone. It's a whole day until Scully makes the phone call. Mulder  
finds something to occupy him in another room so he doesn't have to listen to Scully's halting deliverance of the good news.

When she comes into the kitchen, where Mulder is hiding out and drying the lunch dishes, she has her arms wrapped around her midsection.

"Was your mom glad to hear the news?" he asks.

"Oh yes," Scully replies. "She's thrilled."

"That's good," Mulder offers as he places a glass on the shelf.

"It is," Scully agrees. "She's going to stay for Matthew's preschool graduation in a couple of weeks and then she'll come home."

There are so many unspoken issues between them, so many uncertainties. But one thing is clear to Mulder--he'd better be out of the house  
before Margaret Scully returns.

He tries to be quiet about it, but he starts looking in the Sunday newspaper for apartment rentals. Maybe a condo would be a better choice. He checks out a couple of decent places nearby.

He's in good shape financially. His parents estates left him with a comfortable investment income, and Skinner has been talking about the need for profiling consultants. Mulder may ready to look into that. He'll need something to put his back up against soon.

He doesn't know why he's being secretive about it. Scully can't have missed the rising tension level between him and her mother. Still, he's taken aback when the issue surfaces.

He and Scully are eating lunch at the kitchen table, gooey grilled cheese sandwiches and potato chips, the kind of food Scully disdained back when she wasn't twenty pounds underweight. Scully takes a bite of her sandwich, ducking her head to catch a thick glob of cheese before it drops on the table. She takes a big gulp of cold milk and fidgets with her napkin.

"I...um...I want to thank you, Mulder."

"Well, I do make a mean grilled cheese."

"You know what I'm talking about." She smiles, eyes directed down at her plate. "I'd given up--stopped fighting. If you hadn't pushed me to do the clinical trial...I wouldn't be alive."

"That was pure selfishness on my part, Scully. I wasn't ready to say good-bye."

"I appreciate everything you've done. I know it's been hard for you."

"Scully..."

"I want you to know how grateful I am. You've done more than anyone could possibly ask a friend to do. I don't want you to feel that you owe anything more."

"Owe you. You think this was some kind of obligation?"

"I want you to be free."

"What am I? Some stray dog that you've got tied up in the backyard. And now you're setting me free."

"Tell me something, Mulder. Would you have come back if Skinner hadn't called you? Would you have stayed if I wasn't sick?"

He feels like he's been gutted, sliced open to bleed out at her feet. He wishes he could give her an answer that would surprise her, but that wouldn't be honest and she deserves the truth.

"I...I don't know."

Scully nods and rises to carry her plate and glass to the sink. She stands, hands braced against the counter, her back to him.

"I saw you looking at the real estate section of the newspaper, Mulder. I know you're ready to move on. I just wanted you to know that it's okay."

She turns back to look at him and he catches the glitter of tears in her eyes. But she has her brave face on, the don't pity me face, the I'm strong face.

"I can't stay in your mother's house, Scully. She was never comfortable having me here."

She opens her mouth, but he signals that he isn't finished.

"I'm not leaving town, Scully. Just this house. The two places I've looked at were less than a mile away. I thought, maybe...I wondered if you'd consider coming with me."

"Come with you?" Scully said, as she came back to the table. She sits across from him. "Mulder, you can't be serious."

"Oh, I'm serious. So serious I put a binder down on a two-bedroom condo a few blocks away. I want you to come and see it."

"Mulder, you're crazy," she sputters, running a hand through her short curls.

"It's been a long time since I heard you say that. I missed it."

She gives him a sad smile and shakes her head. "What makes you think this would work? We didn't exactly make a go of things two years ago."

"I know," he answers, reaching for her hand across the table. She bites her lip, tears in her eyes. "Scully, you think I came back out of guilt, and maybe I did. But that's now why I stayed. I...wanted to be here with you. So, the question remains--do you want to be with me?"

"Mulder, it's not that easy--so much has happened. I don't think either one of us has come to grips with losing William."

"You had no choice, Scully. I knew that in my heart, even then. But things were done to me. It was like I'd been hollowed me out. You needed me, but there was nothing left but an empty shell."

"What a pair we are," she says. "The walking wounded."

"But we're still walking. That's something."

She doesn't say anything, just stares down at their joined hands. He knows there's a staggering amount of crap that has to be dealt with--for both of them. Maybe the pain and sorrow will be too much for them to get through. But, god, he wants to try.

"You think we can do this?" she asks, her voice thick with emotion.

"Well, you know me--I'm the eternal optimist."

This makes her laugh, a true laugh and not one of bitterness. She wipes a tear with her free hand.

"I want to try," she says. "But I'm afraid."

"Don't be afraid. I'll be right there with you."

She rises and comes to stand before him. He pulls her onto his lap and she offers no resistance. Her head is on his shoulder, her face in the crook of his neck and he feels, more than hears her when she finally speaks.

"Okay," she says, her breath warm against his skin. "We'll try."

The end.


End file.
